Two Cans of Energy Drink (and An Old Sweater)
The following was sent out to all available Rebellion broadcast stations and stuck as flyers to the most devastated London towns by Evan Ni'Tathal. From Evan, your friendly neighborhood rebel Two cans of energy drink and an old sweater. That’s what I was holding the day this Uprising shit ruined everything. One of the cans was for me. One was for the kid who’d just been beat up for defending me. The sweater was for him too. Those cans cost me a damn fortune. Yanno, as far as cans of energy drink go. I never got to drink it and that—''that is the greatest evil that ever came out of this bullshit. …besides my parents probably being dead, but that’s a whole story on its own. ''This ''story, as it happens, so I’m gonna tell you all about that. Sitting comfortably? No? Me neither; you’ll get used to it. So mom’s from NYC, and dad’s from London. Dad’s a politician, I guess, and mom’s just-.. mom. She sold a bunch of jewellery and stuff on the side, I think, but mostly she just looked after me – hell knows where her money came from. Oh yeah, and we’re elves. That’s a thing. Mom’s a City Elf – that’s the folks who live in the cities with humans – and dad’s a High Elf (the snobby political, gold-in-every-hole kinda elf). That makes me a High City Elf I guess, but I only ever really cared about the City part. That’s where the little people are, yanno? High Elves got all that political power but who has to clean up after them? Yeah. The little people. Not that I don’t think the Uprising was needed, of course. I was getting just as sick of skulking around as anyone – “magic isn’t real” blah, “elves don’t exist” blah blah. Had enough of that “xyz isn’t real” shit when I showed up at school in jeans that one time and told them to call me Evan. Oh yeah, that’s another thing: my gender? Totally fucky. It’s like-.. all over. I’ve stopped even trying to define it anymore. And that’s normal for us! Like, at least ''half ''of all City Elves are genderfucky in some way. Not so much humans. That’s where I started. Dropped out of middle school because fuck that noise, got an elf for a home tutor and spent the rest of my time joining protests and shit. I’ve had my fair share of shit thrown at me in the past, literally and verbally. Which brings me back to the point I was trying to make in the first place. So mom and dad had this long-distance thing going on; I only really saw him like, once every year or whatever. But our Ambassador (that's the dude who goes to the Elven High Council meetings, mostly to listen to the High Elves talk about bullshit like "are the humans stealing your resources" and "are the Dark Elves stealing your resources" and "it can't possibly be our problem that you're running out of resources". Or so I assume) passed around the news that "our people" (High Elves. Mostly pretty much High Elves) were starting a "great revolution" to "take our rightful place alongside humanity". By which they meant they were going to barrel into the cities, take over the governments, and fight anyone who stood in their way. And they did. Now like I said, I don't think the Uprising was entirely uncalled for. History shows that no big change or integration of new cultures into a rigid society comes without a little force. It's just that usually a ''little force comes after a lot of time. Doing it all at once like this, in such huge numbers, is more like war than revolution. It is war. But still, mom wanted to help; and I kinda wanted to help too. Like I said: someone's gotta look out for the little people. So we flew over to England, just before shit hit the fan. Mom helped with negotiations, which-.. to be totally fair, we almost had it. The government were cooperative, things were going well, but-.. democracy, yanno? The people weren’t happy we just sprung up outta nowhere with no warning (surprise, surprise) and so things came to blows. I mostly stuck with the little people thing. Introducing myself to humans, trying to be a friendly face in the crowd – sometimes it even worked. Like with that one kid. I was in Central London with a bunch of fae protesters; thought it was just gonna be a normal day rallying, protesting, struggling against police and asshole citizens. Then the first wave of anti-fae gas hit us, and when I say shit hit the fan I mean shit hit the fucking fan. Literally nobody reacted at first. Except the people who got hit, but that was more like a couple screams then POOF. Dust. Mom-.. she was one of them. Fuck knows if dad survived it all, but I doubt it. These big-ass tanks and vehicles show up. People finally realise oh fuck, those guys just died. Things went from violent protests to an all-out elf cull. I drop my shit and run like hell, just like everyone else there. Fuck knows how I got out of that alive, but as I turn around and look back there’s just dust, fucking everywhere. ''Some elves are trying to fight back; even take out a bunch of the tanks, but whatever the gas they pumped out was made of, it worked fast and soon anyone who didn’t get out of there was dead. Fortunately, the gas stuff is localized. It kinda spread through Central London and stayed there; especially when they put up the walls. Oh yeah, they ''literally built a wall. Fucked-up, right? So it turns out the rich assholes who built that wall are called the Cleansed. They think they’re freeing us from a plague blah blah – point is, they’re batshit crazy and they’ve blocked off a whole chunk of city so no fae can get in without suffering like hell. There’s not even plants in there. And that’s where my real job started. See, those of us who wanna fix things; who want to take down the Cleansed and get the best part of the city back – we’re the Rebellion. And I’m a frontline operative. Which sounds a lot more badass than it is. War like this, it makes a whole lot of refugees. I’m the one who goes looking for them and takes them to one of the Rebel safehouses. I also hang around The Wall sometimes, and when we send human scavenging, infiltration or rescue parties in there I’m the one who helps get them in and out safely. Okay, so maybe it’s a little badass. So yeah, that’s my story. You can find me in that pile of trash that used to be Brixton, just off the southfacing Skyline that runs from Vauxhall’s Vauxwall (I’d claim the clever pun but apparently there was a VauxWall climbing centre or someshit that used to be there. Not anymore though; just plants, ruins, and the Cleansed border station). The one that goes aaaaaall the way to Godstone. Just remember to pull the cord when you wanna get off or else you ''will ''go all the way to Godstone – the trains don’t just stop anymore like they used to- aaaaaaaand why am I still telling you this? It’s been more than a couple years since the Skylines opened; I’m sure you can deal. See ya on the flipside, or whatever it is you expect me to say. Category:Stories